Strings and Schemes

Chapter 30

His lips twitch slightly. "How do you want to be us?"

I suck in a breath, not expecting him to turn it back on me like that.

I let the question sit between us, the weight of it pressing into my ribs. Then, finally, I answer.

"We do this together," I say. "Not as a PR strategy, not as something you're handling for me. We make the choices together."

Zayn nods, slow and deliberate. "Okay."

"And we start by actually choosing to go public, on our own terms." I grab my phone from the counter, unlocking it. "No slow leaks, no speculation. Just something simple that makes it clear."

Zayn raises an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

I smirk slightly, turning my camera to Instagram Stories. I angle it just right, capturing my hand reaching for a mug of coffee, Zayn's tattooed wrist barely visible in the blurred background. It's understated. Soft. A whisper instead of a scream.

I press post.

Zayn leans in, glancing at the screen, then back at me.

"Nice soft launch, Jaan."

"I guess reaching for glasses is our thing now," I laugh. "Thank you for hearing me."

I lean across the counter to kiss him, my whole body leaning into it.

The notification pings start coming in almost immediately.

I don't even have to check my phone to know that our carefully curated soft launch has already begun spiralling. The internet is full of detectives, and it won't take long before people start analyzing every shadow, every background reflection, every inch of the photo to confirm what we already know.

We're together.

The warm glow of the Greek sun flickers in Zayn's eyes, but he doesn't reach for his phone. He just watches me.

Waiting.

Thinking.

"You're being suspiciously quiet," I say, raising an eyebrow. "Regretting our masterful manipulation of the press?"

His lips twitch. "Not even a little."

I exhale a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Then what's got you looking like you're running through every possible outcome in your head?"

He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Just thinking about what comes next."

I swallow, suddenly feeling like I'm being placed under an interrogation light. "And what exactly do you think comes next?"

Zayn doesn't answer right away. Instead, he taps his fingers against the table, considering. "Dating in private is one thing," he finally says. "Dating in public? That's something else entirely."

I nod slowly. "Yeah. I know."

He tilts his head. "Do you?"

I bristle slightly at the question. "Z, I know what the press can do. I grew up in a world where perception was everything. The difference is, I had no control over my own narrative before. But now, with you, I do."

Zayn studies me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. "You say that now," he says, "but you haven't been in it yet. Not really. And it's different when it's... this."

I furrow my brows. "This?"

He sighs, shifting in his chair. "It's one thing to be attached to a name in politics. You're used to that kind of scrutiny, but in that world, it's... calculated. Controlled. With me, it's chaos. It's cameras in your face at the airport at five in the morning. It's people making up entire storylines about things that never happened. It's seeing strangers on the internet dissect your body language and tell you how you're feeling before you even know yourself."

I absorb his words, the weight behind them. He's not just saying this for the sake of it—he's lived it.

"I'm not saying this to scare you," he adds. "I just... I don't ever want you to feel like you're in over your head."

I swallow, leaning forward slightly. "Are you trying to prepare me or push me away?"

His expression softens. "Neither. I just want us to be ready."

I nod, letting the words settle. "Then let's talk about it. What changes?"

Zayn exhales, leaning on his elbows. "For starters, we lose the ability to just... be. Every time we step outside together, there will be cameras. Maybe not all the time, but enough. We won't get to move through the world the way we do now."

I frown. "We barely move through the world now."

He chuckles. "Touché."

I bite my lip, thinking. "What about your past relationships? How did you navigate them?"

He hesitates, and I see the flicker of something in his expression—memories he's not sure how much to share. "Badly," he admits finally. "Sometimes I tried to keep things private, but that just made people more desperate to find out. Other times, I gave too much, and it backfired. No matter what, people think they know you. They write their own versions of the truth."

I nod slowly. "So, what do we do differently?"

Zayn looks at me, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "We do what we did today. We give just enough, but we don't let them define us."

I exhale, some of the tension in my chest easing. "Okay. That I can do."

He reaches for my hand, tracing slow circles over my palm. "And we set boundaries. No checking comments, no searching our names, no letting the outside noise affect what happens between us."

I raise an eyebrow. "You think I'd do that?"

He smirks. "I think you're going to try not to."

I roll my eyes but don't argue. He's probably right.

Zayn squeezes my hand. "And the most important part? We don't let any of this stop us from living."

I nod, feeling more sure now. "So we don't let the press dictate what we do, where we go, or how we feel about each other."

"Exactly."

A quiet understanding settles between us. This isn't a normal relationship, and it never will be. But that doesn't mean it can't be ours.

"So, how do we celebrate our first day as a semi-public couple?" I ask, tilting my head playfully.

Zayn leans in, lips brushing against mine. "I have a few ideas."

And just like that, the conversation shifts, the weight of the future momentarily replaced by the certainty of this.